Miss Kinnaird watched the swimmer's progress with open appreciation.
"Dancing," she said didactically, "isn't to be compared with that! It's the essence of rhythmic movement! I must certainly study swimming.

I wish he'd come right on." Ida was not sure that she agreed with her; and, just then, Weston, swinging suddenly around, went down into the green depths, and, shooting up with white shoulders high above the water, swept away again down-stream.

Miss Kinnaird rose as he did so, and turned back toward the camp.
"That packer is rather fine, considered as a muscular animal," she said.
Ida smiled at this, somewhat sardonically.
"In your country you wouldn't think of regarding him as anything else.
Doesn't being an artist emancipate one from the conventional point of view ?" "No," replied Miss Kinnaird reflectively, "it doesn't, that is, when you do not paint for your living--which, of course, alters everything." Then her eyes twinkled as she favored her companion with a passable imitation of her father's didactic tone and manner.
"As the major says, social distinctions are necessary safeguards, and cannot lightly be disregarded.

If they were not, they could not have existed as long as they have." She laughed.
"In the case of a man who has inherited his station and his possessions," she added, "it is a very natural and comfortable creed." "Ah," said Ida, "my father worked in a sawmill." She spoke quietly, but there was something in her voice that warned her companion that there were subjects upon which they might have a clash of opinion.

In the east there is pride of possession; but the pride of achievement, which is, perhaps, more logical, is more common in the west.
It was an hour later when Weston laid breakfast before them; and Ida, who regarded him unobtrusively with careful attention, decided that Arabella Kinnaird was right.